Fourteen years ago, my heart was broken. Our first child, a baby girl we named Grace, was born still on a rainy morning in May. My wife, Kerry and I were thrilled to be expecting. We kept a journal; we played our favorite music and read to her. We were excited, yet naïve that anything bad would happen.
Every day during her third trimester, without fail, Katie counted the kicks of her unborn son.
He was an active baby that was always on the move, until one day Katie noticed that within the normal hour it took to usually get ten kicks, she only got four.
Originally published in Huffington Post in December 2015
I’ll never forget being seven months pregnant with our son. My husband Dave and I were in church, seated way up front near the organ. An African spiritual came on and the place was rockin’. Soon, my belly was too.